Poison and Wine
by IBtired
Summary: Like a child, his first steps were weak and unsupported, yet determined. Determined to change, to make something of himself beyond everyone's belief of who he was and who he was supposed to be. A story of moving on when everything holds you back.


_**You only know what I want you to….**_

Hermione entered the club with her friends by her side, as confident in her looks as in her intelligence at that moment. She was tired of appealing to others. Changing what didn't need to be changed. Concealing her true feelings. Fearing the one person she was supposed to love and trust above all others.

All eyes were on her as she moved to the center of the dance floor and began to dance with the first man she saw. She always removed her wedding ring when she went out. She didn't need any more reminders of her loveless marriage to a man who never asked where she was going when she left. She would never tell anyone, but she safely keeps it in the top shelf of her desk. She told herself she didn't want to lose it in case her husband ever asked of its whereabouts. It was a heavy weight on her finger and her heart. Sometimes it's just hard letting go of the familiar.

Her husband would not believe his eyes if he saw her at that very moment. Then again, she hadn't cared much for his opinions in quite some time. His thoughtless, judgmental opinions that did nothing but push her further and further away from him. She supposed he meant to bring her closer with his harsh criticisms and hurtful words. He was not aware of his wife's determination. Instead of throwing insults and yelling obscenities in return, she had fun.

* * *

After he lost another hundred thousand on a bad hand of poker, Harry conceded that he may have a gambling problem. And that he had awful luck. Of course, he could have told you the latter years ago. His life was the definition of Oh, Tough Luck and That Poor Boy.

He isn't entirely sure what pushed him to take up gambling. Perhaps it was when his best mates married each other and seemed to leave him behind. Or maybe it was when he realized his girlfriend was just a substitute for a woman he could never have. When his name was slandered in the paper and whispered in dirty bars and posh clubs.

"I heard Potter's girlfriend left him for a woman. What pushed her to that?"

"I always knew _that Harry Potter_ could never hold a relationship."

"Harry Potter's locked himself up in his flat? I heard he's gone mad, that one."

"You can't blame his going mad after what he's _lived_ through. Poor chap."

Regardless of the reason, Harry again finds himself on the losing end of the game. His poker buddies aren't really his mates. Sometimes Dean or Seamus will accompany him to make sure he doesn't drink himself into oblivion and lose his entire fortune. Harry made them promise months ago not to tell Ron or Hermione about his gambling stints. He isn't entirely sure why he does it if he needs to hide it from his best mates. At the end of a long night of poker, after nursing his wounds and paying up, he ends up blaming it on his fierce and lethal determination. He'll keep playing until he wins. Just one more game, just one more bet, just one more card, just one more breath.

* * *

If there were something Draco hated more than anything else, it would have to be admitting defeat. Sharing with even himself that he'd make mistakes. That he was wrong and had been wrong for so long. After his pride was stripped until he was naked in his wrongdoings, his false confidence was his only friend.

He had never counted the likes the Crabbe and Goyle as true mates. Slytherins didn't much have a need for such trivial things as friends, to be honest. He was too busy staking his claim over his house and suffering from his father's constant ignorance. When Lucius began sending him letters on the first of every month with updates on uprisings and mass killings, Draco would quickly run to the privacy of his dormitory and carefully read them. They were always simple and horribly detached, but he always awoke on the first of the month expectant and excited.

If anyone ever asked him what he felt for his father, he would dutifully reply that he respected him but knew he made all the wrong choices at the most critical moments. He felt fleeting moments of despair when he considered he'd never see him again. Never hear his mocking, aristocratic drawl. Never proudly standing by his side or hopelessly fall to his knees beside his dead body. The front he put on in front of his peers too scared to question the resistance's possible motives reflected his own fear. He was frightened to move on. To act without his father's direction. To live in a world that so quickly murdered the dark side's captured forces after their loss in the Battle of Hogwarts. This world full of people who immediately pulled his father to the forefront and cast the spell of death moments after Draco cowardly blamed his father for everything. He swore he was under the Imperius, cast by his own father. He fell to his knees and begged to be spared as his father watched with disappointment and hopelessness.

Draco left the battlefield a freeman. His father left a broken and hopeless mess. It wasn't until a few days afterward that Draco felt the shame burst in his chest and spread throughout his body, wanting an escape. Needing release. There were sudden, horrified screams. A flash of light blurred his vision.

The next morning Draco arose to a war torn battlefield of books, clothes, and memories of his father. He avoided his gaze as he left Hogwarts for the final time. He wasn't sure what he would see in his father's eyes. He could handle regret and disdain—both common expressions that had made themselves at home in his eyes. The look he was avoiding was empty and broken. Broken by his son's insolence. That boy's cowardice and shame. Empty from feeling remorse at the disgrace of his name.

There was a glimmering, distant beacon of hope and life shining before his eyes as he made his first decision. The decision to decide for himself the way he would live his life.

He loved his father regardless of his many faults. Where would Draco go now that he was free from the oppression. Stripped of his sins. The original sin that had followed him wherever he went. Taunting him. Making him question everything he once believed in and what he was now meant to believe in.

* * *

As she sips her tea and stares out the kitchen window one morning, Ginny Weasley wonders how her life turned out this way. Like clockwork, her partner left her that morning, two months and one day after the relationship began. This time it was a man, but they all blurred together recently. She never noticed whether she was dating a man or a woman until they had sex. Not that she looked at their faces during those erotic sessions. She had a nasty habit of closing her eyes and picturing her ex-boyfriend's face, pushing her over the edge every time. Tears would sometimes follow, leading the partner to wonder if it was his or her fault. Or maybe she had deep emotional issues. Issues no man or woman wants to deal with in an early relationship.

Everyone knew she came with heavy baggage. Old, dusty secrets and lies locked up and lugged around. Weighing her down when all she wanted was to move on. Move backwards or forwards, she didn't care. She had been standing still in the same spot far too long. Her legs hardly knew how to carry her under the added weight of past regrets and future uncertainties.

Ginny had been obsessed with Rita Skeeter and _The Daily Prophet_ since she was a small child. She meticulously cut out every article mentioning her family and close friends, secretly keeping the pictures of Harry from his school years and glancing at them from time to time. Of course she knew the articles mainly consisted of lies, but for them to be written in the first place, there must have been some suspicion. For this reason she always believed there was some truth lying beyond the lies. Some lies lying beyond the truth. Some half-lies and not-quite-lies mixed in with almost-truths and I-wish-it-were-the-truths.

When the break-up fiasco hit the newsstands, she dutifully cut out every article, examining each. Looking for an answer, a clear-cut explanation of why things turned out this way. Some said Harry deserved it while others blamed Ginny. As she skimmed the last of hundreds, she came up with no answers. Blame could be placed, hurtful words could be said, certain people and places could be ignored. She was still alone with her uncertain feelings and numb legs. She couldn't move on until she had closure. Until her ties with her past were completely severed.

* * *

Ron Weasley was not happy. As he entered his flat and failed to see his wife, the little patience he held in reserve began to disappear. It flowed through his veins and escaped through his hands, quickly changing to rage. He found himself losing his temper far too easily in matters concerning his wife. It wasn't all of a sudden, of course. It was gradual and crept up his spine a little at a time until its vines constricted his nerves and his muscles and his bones.

He knew he must have loved his wife at one point. But that had been before _then._ Before _him._ Him and her; _them._ The wrong them. The them that excluded him. The him that took his place. And the her that can so easily lie to his face then turn her back to him. He knew the cause but had to way to fix the effects.

* * *

Hello, lovely readers. :) This is my first posted fanfiction, so please review! OH yes, by the way, I do not own Harry Potter or the song "Poison and Wine" by _The Civil Wars. _I do recommend that you give that song a go, though. I'll wait to see if I should continue this story until I get some responses and criticisms. Thank you for reading! ~Em


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